


The Sweet By-and-By

by Maesonry



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Arthur Morgan Adopts You: More at 11, Arthur Morgan Deserves Happiness, Arthur Morgan Does Not Have Tuberculosis, Eventual Happy Ending, Except Micah Who Dies, Family Bonding, Family Fluff, Farm fic, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff, Gen, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, High Honor Arthur Morgan, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Arthur, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:34:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23128618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maesonry/pseuds/Maesonry
Summary: “In the sweet by and byWe shall meet on that beautiful shore.”Arthur Morgan finds you on a muggy, early morning ride outside of Valentine. This shouldn’t change the story, except that it does.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan & Reader, Arthur Morgan/Charles Smith, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 95





	1. A Quiet Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It goes like this: Arthur adopts a kid.

Arthur Morgan finds you on a muggy, early morning ride. His horse is ambling down the dirt path, picking her way through the forest, and Arthur is letting his eyes close just a little to block out the rising sun. Valentine is a nice enough town, and he’s explored the area a fair bit- enough to know, in a vague way, where this and that is. Enough that he doesn’t mind letting Sable take the lead in this ride. The feeling of the road beneath him is a good thing to focus on for thinking. The steady tread of his horse down the path. Strauss said he had another job, and Arthur doesn’t mind per say, sure; it’s legal money, which ain’t bad, yet it’s still shaking down folks at their lowest. Feels like beating up kittens. 

He’s mulling this over, eyes still closed, when he feels Sable let out a huff. Then, just as Arthur cracks his eyes open, she nickers and twists and then turns right off the path. Arthur’s eyes snap open at that, and he doesn’t yank on the reins but he does lean down, looking around to see what’s got her all worked up.

“Easy, girl,” Arthur pats the side of her head, rubbing his hand through the short coat. She huffs again, ducking her head down to something as she comes to a stop. It’s not too far off the trail, but it’s enough that he’s curious, looking around again. He doesn’t look down at first- because, hell, why would he? Course, then he follows Sable’s line of sight, looking down at the ground, catching the sight of stag footprints, and something curled up under a tree.

No, not something. Someone. _Someone_ curled up under a tree. It takes Arthur a good, solid second to process this. It’s- well, you’re small. Arthur reckons you must be a teenager, or somewhere along those lines. It takes him another moment to realize you’re shaking. Cold, or maybe- could be tears. Arthur never was good at this sort of thing, but he’s not going to up and just leave someone when they’re in trouble. He may not be a good man, but he’s not a bad man neither.

“‘Scuse me,” Arthur calls. You stop moving, and Sable lowers her nose down again, searching for something to sniff. Evidently, she finds it, because then there’s her huff again and you sneeze, lightly batting her away. 

“Go away, mister,” you croak, voice cracking a little as you say it. Maybe a few weeks ago, Arthur would’ve just left, but after nearly dying in those mountains, well... he ain’t he man he was. So instead of leaving, Arthur slides off Sable, landing gently next to you. You look up enough to shoot a glare that’s full of venom and distrust, and it seems to take you a moment to realize you’ve got a gun you can aim too. So you do just that. Arthur raises an eyebrow but doesn’t move closer, staring at you. 

“You know how to shoot that thing?” 

You nod in a sharp, jerky motion. “I stole it from- from my Pa. He showed me how, once.”

“Did he now?” and Arthur shouldn’t needle, but really, you look about as threatening as a drenched cat, but an orphan one to boot. A sad look in your eyes. You lower the revolver a little. 

“No,” and you try to make up for the way your voice falls by making your face harder, “No. He told me it weren’t my place to learn. But I still watched him teach my brothers, and I won’t miss. So- so, leave.”

“Easy there,” Arthur has his hands up, using a deep, soothing voice, something dredged up from memories of a lifetime ago, of a son gone and a wife he couldn’t save. “Easy. I won’t hurt’cha.”

You only tremble. 

“Why’d ya leave, then?” Arthur tries. He can see in your eyes that it wasn’t some happy departure. Reminds him of himself, a mirror of younger days. Black and blue bruises. Sharper words.

Your voice is muddled now, like it’s underwater for a moment, “Didn’t leave. Got kicked out.” Then, you clear your throat, “Pa kicked me out. Said I was- said I weren’t right. Weren’t natural. So I- I took my grandpappy’s gun and ran away.”

“That your grandpappy’s gun then?”

You nod. “He told me I could have it. ‘Fore he died. Said that he understood, even if Pa didn’t. He promised he’d teach me how to shoot it one day. Then the TB got him.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” and Arthur is genuine about that. From what he can tell, your Pa wasn’t worth the dirt he was born from. Anyone who’d kick out their own family like that, just for being different. Arthur shares a look with you that says just that, and then you lower the gun with a small noise, kicking your feet back into the dirt. Sable grumbles softly as she noses at your cheek, and before Arthur can tell her to leave you be, you laugh, grabbing something from your pockets: a carrot. You present it to Sable real shyly, and the normally rowdy horse takes it so gentle too, like she’s afraid she’ll spook you. It’s a sight that makes Arthur smile, just a little. The smile turns quiet after a moment.

“I hate to pry, but, was that all yer food?” Arthur asks. You look away and don’t answer, which is answer enough. 

So. Teenager, run away from home, barely knows how to shoot a gun, no food, and no money. Arthur’d give you a few days, tops, before you couldn’t make it any longer. And that thought sticks to the back of his throat like black tar. From what he’s seen, you’re a good kid; stubborn, strong, kind where it counts. Familiar things. He can’t just leave you out here to die; he isn’t like that, not anymore.

“You got anymore family? Anyone you could go to?” he tries. You shake your head.

“Ma died when I was young. Grandpappy, he got the TB. I’ve an uncle, I think, I don’t know.”

So that’s it. Just you, all alone then. Ain’t that a mess. Arthur doesn’t quite know what to do with you, to be honest; he can’t just leave you, can’t give you to other family, and can’t- 

Well. No, he could. He could. Arthur thinks about it for a moment. Assuming this ain’t some... Pinkerton trap. That you really are genuine. If that’s the case, then... there is one option: take you back to the camp. Least until they can find you somewhere else to go, when they leave. Dutch’s always going on about his plan- something involving Tahiti? Saying it won’t take much longer. So it shouldn’t be harm, then, to take you back, just for a little. Just to make sure you ended up somewhere safe.

“What’s your name, kid?” Arthur asks. You idly rip up a handful of grass.

“Folks call me Jesse.”

“Well, Jesse, my name is Arthur Morgan,” and he tips his hat out of polite habit. “Some folks that’re my... family, been staying up at a camp around here. I reckon they wouldn’t mind you staying for a bit. If you wanted to. Just ‘till we find you somewhere else to go.”

You eye Arthur like he’s a snake waiting to bite. It’s a stare that lasts a few moments, which is good, cause it means you’ve got a good head on your shoulders and wouldn’t go running around with some stranger after a minute of knowing him. At least not before you checked him out. It takes a minute, but then, your face softens a bit.

“Okay. Only for a little, though,” and you stand up, “and only if I can pull my weight too. Don’t wanna be a burden. And, don’t try anything either.” You shake the revolver like a threat, and Arthur doesn’t have the heart to tell you it’s unloaded. 

“I give you my word.”

Arthur shouldn’t be surprised, but he’s surprised to find that he really means it, too. That somehow, after meeting this near stranger for the first time, he’d willingly try his damndest to keep them safe. 

Maybe he’s growing soft. Or maybe it’s something about you.

“Right. Careful now, up you go,” Arthur helps you haul yourself onto Sable. You’re big enough to sit in the back of the saddle without falling off, so Arthur takes the front.

“Hold on now. Don’t go fallin’ off.” Arthur warns. 

“I’ve ridden a horse before,” you sniff defensively, but hold on tight as told. 

Arthur keeps Sable to a reasonable trot. It’s not too far a ways back to camp at Horseshoe Overlook, and as he rides, he’s thinking exactly of how to explain this to Dutch and Hosea. Hosea won’t mind, of course- Hell, he’d probably be thrilled, always did love new folk around, especially the stubborn and polite kind. Dutch though, Arthur has to mull over. Hard to put a pin in it, but something ain’t felt right for a while with Dutch. It’s little things. Arthur knows it’s just little things, and he tries to shake it off, wonders why he’s doubting Dutch now of all times. Blackwater? Can’t be. No, Arthur puts that out of his mind, focuses on what to tell the folks back at camp about you. 

But, as he hears you humming the chords to some bar song, sees you slip a hand down to pet Sable, well. He reckons that it won’t be hard to convince them about you. 

After all, it’s only for a little while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reader’s name is Jesse but honestly you can change it to whatever the hell you want if you really want to. I just think it tickles my fancy
> 
> Anyway. This is based off a dream and of course I had to write it 
> 
> Micah dies in this one, spoiler alert fuck that guy
> 
> Also it’s Charles/Arthur but lowkey bc I just... have so many feelings ok


	2. Money Lending and Other Sins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It goes like this:  
> Mr. Downes doesn’t cough on Arthur.

You’ve got a horse named Jake. Arthur, for some reason that not even he quite knows, is the only person that knows the horse’s name is Jake. For everyone else, you tell them the horse is named Asparagus. He doesn’t know why. But, it seems to make you happy so, Arthur’ll be the last one to tell ya to stop.

Things are different. Strange. A nice kind of different though. Dutch wasn’t too pleased when Arthur brought you in, but Hosea smoothed it over. Hell, that seems to be happening more and more these days. Either way, things went smooth after that. Ms. Grimshaw darn pitched a fit when she saw the state of you, all covered in dirt and who knows what else, and you hollered like some terrible curse as she dragged you off to the tub. After that, everyone slowly began to sniff around you, seeing what you were like, if they could get acquainted or should leave you be. Arthur was glad that Micah was up in jail at Strawberry, because he didn’t want to be responsible for the fistfight he’d get into when Micah inevitably tried to tweak you in some way. 

The days passed. Maybe a week of some kind. You found yourself a horse, a frightened type of boy. The same one that you’re petting right now, smoothing his chestnut coat and petting his head. Asparagus Jake. You’ve got a saddle for him and everything, and you look at him like he’s fit to hang the moon. Arthur wonders if this was another thing your Pa had decided “wasn’t your place”, something as simple as having a horse. He doesn’t ask; it‘d ruin the moment.

Instead, Arthur says, “I’m gonna be heading out soon. Ya need anythin’?”

You look up. Squint against the sun for a moment, then rub your nose with the back of your hand, leaning next to Jake. “No. I dunno. Why, where’re you going?”

Arthur thinks. It’s not that you don’t know what goes on in the camp, per say- hell, you’re a sharp mind, can’t keep a thing from you. It’s more that, he doesn’t want to say, “I’m on my way to beat up some folk for debt money.” Seems just as callous as before. Makes him feel more accountable. Easier to shift the blame a bit, internally, when he mentions some bank job. But when it’s just him, just him and some folks that don’t deserve it, well. It’s harder. Harder too to tell you, to imagine the way your eyes might lose that little bit of shine, the way you look at Arthur like you wanna be just like him. Like little Jack all grown up, except instead of Marston’s kid, it’s just you. 

So Arthur says, “I gotta get some loans back from some people.” Sounds a bit better. Still rough, but Arthur’s rough, so it works fine. You nod, then whip quick, your face opens and you round on him.

“Can I come with you?” 

Arthur shouldn’t flinch, but he does. Tone comes out too hard. “Come with me?”

“Yeah! Y’know, talk with the folk, see if I can... get ‘em to let it go easier,” your voice loses some of its steam at Arthur’s expression, and you kick your heel into the dirt. “I won’t be no trouble. It’s just- it’s so borin’ when you leave. I ain’t got anyone else to talk to.”

“You’ve got Lenny,” Arthur says, “Charles. Hosea. Little Jack.”

Your tone gets to the way of pleading, like Mary Linton’s younger brother, all those years ago, asking for money for some sweets. “Lenny’s been busy all day, an’ Charles is too, and all Hosea wants to do is teach me to _read_.” You say it like some kind of torture.

“You can’t read?”

“Kinda,” you turn your head to Jake, “Pa didn’t taught me much. I do fine on my own, but... Hosea’s givin’ me hard words. Like... dysentery.”

Arthur can’t help it. He puts on a face, and asks, just a little loud, “Hosea’s giving you dysentery?”

Javier trips nearby, from where he’s going to get firewood, face twisted in a surprised laugh. You look confused for a moment, then you scowl. Arthur cracks a smile, setting his hand on your shoulder, “Sorry, couldn’t resist.”

You frown for a little while longer, before smiling too. Arthur pulls back and sighs.

“Can’t take ya with me, though. Too dangerous.”

“But I thought you were just gettin’ money from people?”

“These folk- could be dangerous. Desperate folk. I don’t want you at risk in case it goes south.”

“Why? I can shoot a gun, I swear!-“

“Jesse. We both know you ain’t a good enough shot yet. Why don’t you practice with Javier while I take care of this, okay?” 

It’s easier to fall in to a routine. One where Arthur cares a little too much about your safety, where you’re a little desperate for his approval. It stings in a way, then, when your face falls. When you back away and let Arthur go to Sable, and you keep your head turned to Jake so maybe, maybe he can’t see how upset you are. 

Arthur rides off.

Strauss told him about the man he’s supposed to go find. Mr. Downes, at a small farm nearby. Just like all the other folk, poor and destitute and the like, barely having enough money to get by. Used to be that Dutch was the one to look out for them type. Giving them money, helping them along, stuff stolen from the rich. Used to be. Now though, it seems they’ve all forgotten. Even- even Arthur. The families before, Arthur only took what they said they’d had. This time, he can’t be so nice. The camp needs that money; Dutch needs that money. They’ll escape somewhere nice, he promised. Somewhere to be free.

So Arthur rides to a stop at the Downes farm, and tries to harden his heart like ice. It’s just a little harder than before.

Arthur sees a man, raking some soil near the side of the house. Must be Mr. Downes. Looks a terrible sight too, pale, little shaky. Not fit to be out in this weather. Arthur approaches him, but keeps some distance, uncertain. 

“Mister Downes?” he calls. The man turns, and Arthur can see his face, all gaunt, tired. Exhausted to the core. The thought flits into Arthur’s head- does he have a family? Arthur can’t take from him if he has a family. He has to. He can’t. God damnit, he has to. 

Understandably, Mr. Downes turns right back to the farmland. Trying to pretend he never saw Arthur. Hell, Arthur can’t blame him either.

“Mister Downes,” Arthur says again, more forceful, “I’m here about the money.”

That sets him into motion. Mr. Downes turns, pale as a ghost, raising up the rake like a bludgeon. 

“I- I don’t have it.”

That’s a bad answer for everyone involved. Arthur takes a few steps forward, squaring his shoulders, letting menace radiate and ooze out. It’s easy. It shouldn’t be. When did this happen, he wonders? 

“Wrong answer, Mister Downes. I’m askin’ you again: where is the money?” 

The man’s gone and pressed himself against the fence. He’s shaking like a frightened rabbit, and Arthur sighs, before clenching a hand, raising a fist. It’s gotta be done. Just the way it is.

“Arthur!” 

Well. That ain’t quite right. 

Arthur turns to face the source of the call, and then, of course he sees you. You, riding on top of Asparagus Jake, looking like you crawled through half a mile of mud on the way here but undeterred. You’ve managed to strap a holster to your side too, your grandpappy’s pistol there, almost untouched from whatever you got yourself into on the way here. Arthur grits his teeth.

“Jesse! What did I tell you?”

You get off your horse. “That you’d be in danger,” and you peer around, “I don’t see any danger. Excuse me, mister-“ you look at Mr. Downes, or at least, at his legs, “you seen anything dangerous around?”

Mr. Downes doesn’t speak. Probably because he likes having all his teeth. 

“Jesse. Now is really not the time,” Arthur grinds out. 

“That ain’t fair and you know it!”

Arthur sighs, shifting and turning around. And, as he does, your expression changes. Goes from mulish to surprised, to fearful. Arthur feels his heart sink a little, that that expression is directed to him.

But then you point to Mr. Downes.

“Mister!” you shout, rushing to Arthur, shoving _him_ behind you. Arthur blinks. You stare at Mr. Downes with legs like a fawn. “You’ve got it, don’t you?” 

Got what?

Mr. Downes grimaces, “I do.”

Your face turns softer. Shoulder unhitch. Like you’ve read his entire character with these past minutes, and concluded something good. Something sad. “You shouldn’t be out here then. Ain’t good for you.”

Mr. Downes tries to wave you off, but then he turns and coughs into his arm. You flinch without meaning to. Arthur’s gotten tired of waiting for an answer, so he just asks.

“What’s he got?”

“Tuberculosis,” Mr. Downes says. You nod a little.

“You got a family, mister?” 

“My wife...”

Without warning, you step over to the front door, knocking. Arthur blinks in bewilderment, and Mrs. Downes steps out, and you tell her that Mr. Downes needs to lay down, and she nods, thanks you, gives Arthur a critical look. You tentatively help Mr. Downes inside, chattering in a polite way, and that just leaves the Missus with Arthur. 

“You’re here for the money, ain’t ya?” she asks. But it’s not upset, it’s tired. So tired. Arthur can see the weight of it all, in her stance, her tattered clothes, the farmstead that’s falling apart and the way she looks so bone tired.

Arthur should say yes. He should go in there, grab you, then take everything of value and leave. For the gang, for the plan. But, well. For some reason, Arthur doesn’t budge an inch. And even worse, he says instead, “No. No, your debts’ve been paid off.”

She blinks like she doesn’t believe him. Arthur doesn’t really believe himself. Still though, she only argues about it for a moment, before seeming to accept it. So tired, but so desperate. Was Arthur really about to beat that man within an inch of his life? Just for a little cash? Yes, the answer would be yes. If you hadn’t hobbled along on your chestnut horse and made a ruckus, made him realize.

And speaking of the Devil. You step out of the house right then, and you smile to Mrs. Downes, tell her to have a good day, take care with the heat. You slow when you approach Arthur though, suddenly shying away, realizing that you hadn’t listened to him. That you’d disobeyed. You square your shoulders like you expect punishment, like a punch, and that makes Arthur’s stomach twist. You flinch when he sets a hand down on your shoulder.

“Jesse,” his voice is a careful tone. Not angry. Not upset. “Jesse. Look at me, I ain’t gonna be mad.”

You do look up. Your lip is pressed into a thin line, but your eyes are uncertain. Arthur sighs.

“I won’t lie to you; I’m upset that you followed me. You coulda gotten hurt.”

You open your mouth, but close it quickly, just nod. Arthur furrows his brow.

“You can speak. ‘S Okay.”

After a few short inhales, you manage it. “I- I wanted to help. And I’s scared.”

“Scared?”

“You said it was dangerous. I didn’t want you to- to leave, not come back. Charles is nice and Karen is funny but, they ain’t you. And I...” you trail off, mumbling the rest.

“Hey, easy. It’s alright. Speak up.”

“And I- wanted to show you that I wasn’t a bad shot.”

For a second, Arthur feels confused, and well, upset. That’s it? You were lonely, and wanted to show him you could shoot? But then, Arthur thinks about it. No, you weren’t lonely, you were scared he’d die. And you didn’t just want to show him you were a good shot, but you wanted to try and make him proud. 

Well, damn. What a pickle you’d both gotten yourselves in. 

“Okay. Next time, if I say it’s dangerous, it is. I’ll bring one of the others, alright?” Arthur bargains. You stare, then nod, tension leaving your shoulders. He squeezes your shoulder once, and adds, “then, I’ll give you shootin’ lessons at camp. So you can actually shoot one day.”

“I can shoot just fine!” you huff.

“Sure, sure.”

“I can!”

“I don’t doubt it.”

You bicker and grumble the entire walk back to the horses, but it turns lighthearted, clear that you’re not upset. You sit upon Jake, and Arthur upon Sable, and as you both ride away from Mr. Downes farm, neither of you know what you subverted that day, just by being there. 

It shouldn’t change much, but it did. And a stag in the woods ambles off, unseen.


	3. The Course of True Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It goes like this: you stay with them.

Arthur regrets, well and truly, ever breaking Micah out of that jail in Strawberry. If Dutch hadn’t insisted- hell, that’s just the thing, isn’t it? If Dutch hadn’t insisted, no one would have minded at all. But he had. So Arthur went up to Strawberry, rescued that slimy, rat-faced bastard, and nearly shot up half the town. 

Nearly. Turned out more as, he grabbed Micah and hauled him bodily out of town on Sable, while Micah kicked and hollered up a storm. “I need my guns!” So Arthur went _back_ for the guns. “I need to make them pay!” And that, Arthur would not do. Gotta draw the line somewhere, and Arthur drew it at massacring a town- over nothing, too. 

Time went on enough that Arthur almost forgot about Micah. But a week later, he’d swaggered back in to camp, having done some stagecoach job for Dutch; Dutch looked at him with something like pride, and Arthur felt that damn uncertainty in his stomach once more. That something had changed. Maybe it hadn’t. He didn’t know.

And now, weeks and weeks later, at the new camp- Arthur really, truly, wishes he’d left Micah Bell for dead. When he’s not cleaning his guns, he’s harassing folk around camp. Anyone he thinks he can get away with picking on. Today, it seems his target is you. It’s a new thing, and Arthur doesn’t want to rush over to defend you, even if he does; Micah might take that as a challenge, work twice as hard when Arthur isn’t around to stop him. It isn’t anything you’d done, neither. That‘s just how Micah is.

Arthur is hauling bales of hay across camp when it happens. He sets one down by Asparagus Jake, wipes his head, and jolts in place when he hears you shout something. The camp is safe enough that Arthur only jolts a little, turning to see what’s going on, hand going for a revolver out of habit. And sure as hell, there you are, standing near the edge of camp with Micah. Or, you’d been standing, then Micah decided you were in his spot, maybe. Arthur watches this, stepping just a little bit closer, as Sable huffs at the back of his neck and Jake prances a little in dismay. Thankfully, Arthur ain’t far enough away that he can’t hear you.

“So. The runt’s gone and picked up their slack?” Micah’s voice is runny like mercury, and you stand up straighter, folding your arms.

“Ain’t no slack. I’ve been doin’ my part,” you insist. And you’re right, at least to Arthur. Firewood, feedin’ the animals, lessons from Hosea, from Charles. Even if you don’t join the gang for official business (that’s strictly off the table, Arthur says), you do your part just fine.

Course, Micah doesn’t see that at all.

“You chop a log an hour an’ call it done, lil rabbit.” 

“That’s funny, cause I ain’t ever see you do even one!”

Arthur chuckles under his breath; you sure do act like him. The thought sobers his mind, though, and he reminds himself that you ain’t his kid. Just someone he’s holding on to for a little while. It’s safer that way, for you- least, that’s what he tells himself. He focuses back on the conversation, and then he narrows his eyes as he catches the end of a sentence.

“-what you say. You know you’ve got no place in this gang, and it ain’t but a matter of time till we cut you loose,” Micah threatens. Arthur decides he’s heard enough, and closes the rest of the distance, face stormy.

“Micah, you’d best be going elsewhere,” he says. Not a threat, just a statement. A dangerous one. Micah looks up, then snorts.

“Oh, lookie here- the cowpoke here for his lone little goat,” but Micah takes a step away, as you glare venomously at him, flexing your hands like you can go for a revolver that’s not there. Another bad habit you’ve picked up from Arthur, it seems. He steps beside you, setting one hand on your shoulder.

“Really? Cause all I see here is a rat.”

Your face shifts, a little laughter escaping your throat, and Arthur squeezes your shoulder then lets go, still staring at Micah, who’s gone red with anger like some sunburned skin. He grins though, too many teeth to be friendly, slime and something like malice in his gaze. Arthur shifts just a little so that you’re behind him.

“Best watch yourself, _cowpoke_. Kids gotta get sent to the market sometime.”

What- kid as in, goat? Arthur screws up his face as Micah saunters away. It’s a strange kind of threat, but Micah is a strange kind of man, so Arthur just sighs and turns back to face you. You look like you’ve swallowed desert dust, and maybe gotten some in your eyes.

“‘M _fine_ ,” you grumble, wiping your face with your arm and smearing some kind of oil across your cheeks. Arthur sighs, grabbing some cloth from his pocket to at least try and wipe it off. 

“I know you are.”

You’re silent for a little, while Arthur at least makes you safe from Ms. Grimshaw’s wrath. After a bit, you finally speak, voice quiet like you’ve lost it somewhere.

“Are you gonna send me away?”

Arthur doesn’t freeze, per say, but he does slow his scrubs at your face. It’s enough that you notice; you’re too damn smart for him. 

“You are, aren’t you?” your voice cracks. 

“No, no. I- damnit, Jesse, hold on, listen,” and Arthur crouches down to eye level, sighs, “I, that was the plan, originally, wasn’t it? I told you I’d help you till you had somewhere else to go. It wasn’t supposed to be this long.”

“I know. I just- I ain’t got anywhere else. I don’t wanna go to no orphanage, I don’t wanna go back to my Pa- I like you just fine!” your voice breaks Arthur’s heart, just a little, or how you’re trembling so hard he has to steady you with two hands on your shoulders. “I like how you always listen to me, an’ got me a horse, and let me ride ‘im around and help you. And- and you never call me things like Pa did. You never say that I ain’t born right.”

“Jesse...” Arthur is quiet, trying to get you to listen, to look at him. 

“It ain’t fair!” you croak.

“Jesse! Calm down, easy, I got you, easy,” Arthur fumbles his way through the comforting words, and you let out a sound of almost anguish, not so sharp as dying but of frustration, loss, surging forward and stuffing your face into Arthur’s shoulder. After an awkward moment, Arthur pats light at your back. Trying to find the words.

“Listen, kid...” inhale, “If you really, really ain’t want to leave- I’m sure I could talk to Hosea about having you stay on.” Those words sound like some kind of damnation, of cursing you to this outlaw life, but you stiffen and pull back, your face bright, like you ain’t sure what you heard. 

“You mean- like, like Kieran over there?”

“Kieran’s a- special case. But, yeah. Yeah.” 

You plant your face back into Arthur’s shirt, but this time, you’re hugging him. Arms not quite enough to reach around all the wall, but almost, and you squeeze like you can break something. 

“I swear- I’ll, do all my work and won’t complain none, and I’ll help!“

“Easy. Calm down there,” Arthur chuckles, “I still gotta go talk to Hosea first.” And Dutch. But lately, Arthur’s been wanting to talk to Dutch less and less these days. 

Course, you ain’t listening. Instead, you spin around and charge straight for Kieran, shouting, “Kieran, Kieran! I ain’t leavin’!” Kieran looks up in a face of surprised joy, mirrors your own, and from nearby, Lenny shouts something of his own in delight. Arthur smiles then, shaking his head at you, all fond and exasperated. 

You remind him more and more of himself every day. Hell, you really are his kid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early to bed, early to rise, in the next chapter Micah Bell dies


	4. A Short Walk in a Pretty Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It goes like this: Micah dies.

The day’s gone well so far, Arthur’s pleased to say. Rhodes is a fair sort of town- nevermind the constant feud between the Braithwaites and the Grays. You’ve taken to spending time going with Sadie as she stretches her legs around town, and she’s taken to teaching you how to lasso highwaymen and other bandit type. Arthur would try to put a stop to it, but it ain’t hurtin’ anyone, and as long as neither of you draw any attention to the gang, he can’t see the harm.

When you’re not with Sadie, you’re hanging around Kieran, or huntin’ with Charles, shootin’ with Lenny, being taught by Hosea. Hell, you even take little Jack on flower collecting trips, or ride a small circuit around camp on Asparagus Jake with Jack in the front saddle. It’s nice, to see you talking and smiling with the others in the gang. To see you open up to them like a family. And, it keeps Micah an arms length away from you. Which is even better. 

And speak of the Devil, there Micah is, walking to Arthur like they’re old pals. Which, they ain’t. Arthur wonders if he can just pretend he’s busy, but really, all he’s doing is standing by the edge of camp, watching Sable watch a squirrel. Hm. Well, maybe if he’s really quick, he can pretend to be asleep, right?

“Arthur! Just the man I wanted to see,” Micah calls. Damnit. Arthur tilts his head in a vague sort of greeting, which is more than enough for Micah, who walks over and stands beside him.

“We’ve got a job in town. Security detail for the Grays.”

Sable’s gotten a few steps closer to the squirrel.

“Really?”

“Just got the word. Bill, me, and Sean’re gonna be working it. We want you in.”

Sable is a breath away from the squirrel. Squirrel ain’t realize what’s happening yet.

“In.”

“Yeah! Come on, cowpoke. It’ll be an easy job.”  
Arthur’s face twitches in irritation, right as the squirrel notices Sable and shoots off, gone into the brush. Sable huffs.

“Oh? Like that parlay with the O’Driscolls?” Arthur chews out, raising an unhappy eyebrow. Micah flinches, just a little thing, twist of the face. Arthur ain’t blind; he notices. Just like how he noticed before, how he noticed the O’Driscoll sneaking up on him. If he hadn’t gone with his gut- if he hadn’t not trusted Micah to watch his back. A different Arthur would’ve trusted the rat, and that different Arthur would’ve paid the price. But instead, Arthur noticed in time. Got away. Back to camp with the others, and a stupid, blown up treaty with the O’Driscolls that wasn’t even one to begin with. 

So. No, Arthur doesn’t want to do this job with Micah. To hell with the Yankee gold these two houses are fighting over, it can’t be worth all this. 

But, on the other hand, if he doesn’t go, that’s just asking for trouble too. Anything involving Micah, at least. 

It’s an unhappy understanding. Arthur sighs, shoves his hands into his pockets, then finally relents. It’s best to keep an eye on Micah, when the situation calls for it. As quietly as possible. Maybe, just maybe, he’ll find a reason to distrust Micah, and then he can bring it all to Dutch and they can wipe their hands of this bastard man. Maybe.

“Fine. I’ll ride in to town with ya.”

Micah smiles, which is to say, it’s not much of a smile at all. He reaches over and pats Arthur once on the shoulder, then ambles off. Arthur gives an exaggerated shiver, and Sable makes a sound suspiciously like laughter. 

“Yeah, Yeah. Laugh it up,” Arthur grunts, going over to saddle up. Asparagus Jake is nearby, chewing at some grass lazily, and he perks up when Arthur comes closer. Arthur pats the side of his head.

“Easy, boy. Jesse’s gonna ride you soon.”

Predictably, Jake just twitches an ear, goes back to eating grass. Still, Arthur gives him a departing pat, saddling up with Sable. Micah’s already waiting by the entrance to the camp, but, in a surprise, so are you. You’re squaring up with Micah like he owes you money, but you brighten when you notice Arthur riding over.

“Arthur!” you smile, “You’re goin’ into town?”

“Yep. Got a job with the Grays.”

You bounce on your feet. You don’t say anything, but Arthur already knows what you’re gonna ask.

“No.”

“Aw- that ain’t fair, I didn’ neven ask.”

“Don’t need to. You fidget when you wanna ask somethin’ like that.”

You cast a glare to Micah, “He gets to go?”

Micah puffs up, “Unlike you, I can shoot straight. What’s the matter? Hurt that your daddy‘d rather bring me instead of you?”

Arthur freezes at that sentence- Dad? Him?- but you don’t. In fact, you launch yourself at Micah like a rabid fox, screeching curses and hollering up a storm.

“I’ll kill you!” 

And, yank. Arthur reaches down and grabs the back of your bandana, yanking you back. You hunch your shoulders but don’t try to rush forward again.

“Micah, I’d appreciate it if you just _shut your damn mouth_ for once,” Arthur grinds out. He releases you, and you just stand there, crossing your arms. Arthur sighs. “Jesse, I’ll- we’ll ride into town later, how’s that? Some shootin’ practice with Sadie too, iffin she’d like.”

You uncross your arms, turn to Arthur, “Yeah. Okay. I’ll go ask her?”

“Sure, sure,” and Arthur reaches down, ruffles your hair. You grin, then run off, ignoring Ms. Grimshaw’s shout of “No running in camp!”

Micah, for once in his miserable life, doesn’t say a word. Good.

The ride into town ain’t bad. Short, and quiet on account of Micah shutting his mouth. Rhodes sure is a pretty town, in its own way. Soon, the pair finds their way to Bill and Sean, who are leaning against a building, waiting. 

“Took ya long enough,” Sean needles, in a good-natured way. Arthur still rolls his eyes.

“Figured I’d stop for dinner on the way,” he replies. Sean elbows him in the leg as he dismounts Sable. Micah clears his throat nearby.

“It’s down the road, at the saloon. Come on.” 

It’s not a long way. Short, in a pretty town. They talk about the job, about the family feud, about the mythical gold that probably ain’t even real. It’s just a feeling, but Arthur’s gut is warning him that this situation is all kinds of off. Just enough that he can’t shake it. It’s a kind of habit then that he has Sean walk beside him, leans over to ask him, “Does this seem odd to you?” And he lets Micah walk in front, lets himself put as much distance between the man as he can, the bad feelings all kinds of worse.

It’s all coincidence. Chance. Built up, over weeks. 

Still. Arthur never expected Micah to die quite like this. 

The gunshot comes too quick. One moment of talking, Micah turns his head. Then, a bullet, exploding out of his skull, spraying red all over the ground. All Arthur can think in that moment, is that- that could have been Sean. Would have been Sean. And now it’s Micah. Micah, dead. 

It’s movement after that. Shouting, ‘duck’! Getting behind cover. Taking out the Grays, who had set this up as a trap, of course they did. Then Bill gets grabbed by the sheriff, and it’s just a mess, all of it. The gunfight ends quick and then they’re all back, looking at Micah’s dead body. 

Arthur clears his throat.

“Bill- could you, could you go bury him, somewhere?“ Arthur can barely ask it. Sure, he hated the guy to hell and back, but this seems wrong. That he was alive one moment and then gone the next. Didn’t even get to put up a fight, it’s just over and done, just like that. Still, Bill nods and grabs what was once Micah, and Sean and Arthur mount the horses, and Arthur goes back to camp and all he can think now is, “How do I tell you I can’t take you into town now?”

In a few minutes, that’ll be his least concern.


	5. Blood Feuds, Ancient and Modern

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It goes like this: Jack doesn’t get taken. Mostly.

Arthur rides back into camp. No one is on watch out front, which is the first sign that somethings wrong, and no one greets him when he dismounts Sable, which is the second sign. In fact, he can hear shouting coming from the other end of camp, and sees everyone crowded around together near the back. All these things in combination make some pit in Arthur’s gut grow and churn. 

“Where is my son, Dutch?!” Abigail’s voice is loud and clear, even from this distance. Arthur’s footsteps ring loud, but not as loud as his heartbeat in his ears, that feeling of cold blooded terror which is of so unfamiliar. Cold like the mountains. Arthur’s there in a blink, listening to them all, everyone in camp shouting at once.

“We will find him, Abigail,” Dutch says.

“Get me back my boy, Dutch! My son!”

“Who would take a boy?-“

“-Pinkertons?”

“Kieran says he saw some guys down by the river-“

“They took Jesse too. Fuck, what’re we gonna tell Arthur.” 

“-and, I heard screaming-“

Arthur’s voice breaks the din. “Jesse?”

No one freezes, per say, but there is a noticeable shift when they all realize he’s here. Arthur feels his heart thump, so loud, too goddamn loud, thundering like an engine in his chest, and he croaks, “Where is Jesse?”

Dutch steps forward. His face is all kinds of grief, a mess of it, and something like anger too. Not like Abigail, shouting so loud with hurt. No, Dutch’s voice is almost creaking, like a cart down a bumpy road, “Arthur- some men took Jack. Kieran says it was the Braithwaites,” and there’s the pause, the stop, “and they took Jesse too.” 

And just like that, Arthur’s whole damn world falls out from under him.

_Jesse. They got Jesse._ They’d gotten Arthur’s kid- the one Arthur’d promised to keep safe, and now Jesse’s gone, and little Jack is gone, that sweet boy, kidnapped and stolen and so was Jesse, the two people who were supposed to be safe, not mixed up in this damn mess. Not like this. Suddenly, Arthur knows exactly what Mrs. Marston is feeling. And it hurts like few things ever have before.

“Jesse,” Arthur mouths.

“We’ll find them,” Dutch promises, but not just a promise, not empty words, because then they’re all moving, “We are going to find them, and we are going to make those Braithwaites pay!” 

To the horses. God, it’s a horrible blur. Arthur sees Kieran, distraught, a right mess of a man. He sees Asparagus Jake, looking so lost too, like Arthur, and it aches in him. Arthur saddles up Sable and everyone else is riding then; everyone, all of the gang that’s able-bodied enough to. Lenny looks like he’s been dragged to hell, Charles’ face is stormy with wrath, and Hosea- oh, Hosea, looking twenty years younger with pain. John is howling with rage, shouting, “We’ve got to get him back!” and God, Arthur wants to scream too. He can’t, he won’t, but the sound curdles in his throat and hurts with it.

“Dutch, in town-“ Arthur tries to begin, trying to force the words out, “It was a setup. They got Micah.”

“I heard, God I heard, and believe me- they will pay, but not before we get these kids _back_.”

Braithwaite manor comes in view. It’s all orange against a backdrop of a setting sun, and the red rays splash like blood over the trees. The horses stay outside the gate. Everyone readies their guns. A solemn walk, towards the front of the house, where every member of this damned family stands too. Oh so ready to die, after kidnapping these kids. Arthur bares his teeth. Of course, Dutch tries to talk it out. The words are meaningless, lost to John and Arthur, but it doesn’t work anyway, and that’s just as well. The bullets fly then, and it feels so right to give in to that rage.

Gunshots thunder through the air. It’s a horribly familiar sound, and Arthur feels alive with it. Like the anger boiling his blood, each shot is as easy as breathing. With everyone in the gang together, the Braithwaites don’t even stand a chance. The ones outside fall, dying in pools of their own blood, and the gang charges forward into the house proper. Taking care of the ones still in the inside. Not many now, and the finery of this mansion is lost on Arthur, as he shatters some ugly looking statue by braining a man over it. Feels good. 

“Check the rooms!” Dutch shouts. The gang members inside start checking, with Arthur leading the search with John. Duel shouts of “Jesse!” “Jack?!” rattle around the halls. Doors slammed open, slammed shut, gunshots. 

“Upstairs!” Arthur shouts. The rest of the gang is finishing up their check downstairs, and so Arthur, John, and Dutch all crowd up the staircase, dealing with the few Braithwaites still on the upper level. They’re looking for the matriarch of the family, but fuck if they can find her in this mess of rooms, a goddamn maze, all the doors identical. More members of the family flood out for one last stand, and Arthur can’t take it anymore; every minute spent is another minute that Jesse is gone, scared. He grabs one of the Braithwaites and slams him into a wall.

“Start talkin’!” Arthur roars, “Where’s Catherine Braithwaite?!” 

“Go to Hell-“

A sharp punch to the jaw. Another to the eye. The man’s lips are much looser after that.

“Go- go around the side. You can get in that way-“ and Arthur drops him to the ground, where John finishes him off with a gunshot. To the side of the house then, the balcony. The three move in, and finally, they find a door. Locked but not locked enough to stop them. Two shoves makes quick work of it, and the two sons in the room put up a fight that lasts all of a second. Bang, bang. Catherine Braithwaite screams.

Dutch decides to do the talking. He always was better at that sort of thing. And frankly, Arthur isn’t in a talking mood. 

“Jack- where is he?” Dutch demands, “The little boy you _stole_. Where is he?!”

“I won’t say a word,” she hisses, so full of venom and hate. Dutch narrows his eyes, leans in closer.

“Well, how about Jesse? The teenager? I heard Jesse killed one of your men, before you grabbed the two of them. Where is _Jesse_?”

Catherine Braithwaite snaps, but it’s not threatening, and Arthur can’t be scared. She snarls instead, “They’re both gone! Both of them!”

“Where?!”

“You can choke on it, you filthy animal!”  
Dutch inhales, holds, then exhales. Then, he inclines his head to Arthur. “Shoot the rest of her sons.”

“No!” Mrs. Braithwaite howls, “No!”

Arthur’s eyes are cold as his heart, and he complies. The one that had still been alive on the floor is shot clean through, his head blossoming out like a flower. Catherine Braithwaite screams in agony, sobs like razor blades. “No, no! My sons! NO!”

“Tell is where they are!” John shouts, “And I might just leave some alive!”

“You can’t do this! You can’t!”

“Oh, but we can,” Arthur growls. Dutch waits, then sighs.

“Alright. So be it then, Mrs. Braithwaite.”

Dutch calmly sets fire to the drapes of the room, and drags Catherine Braithwaite our by her hair. She kicks and screams, wailing, and Arthur and John light up more of the halls. Javier and Lenny are beside them now, saying, “We checked the rooms upstairs. There’s no one inside the house.”

It starts to burn. Burning down, the finery of it all, earned through slavery and then flaunted like wealth. Arthur watches it with a detached sort of view, while Catherine Braithwaite screeches, and Braithwaite Manor burns.

“One more time now!” Dutch shouts, dropping her into the ground and pointing a pistol to her head, “Where. Are they?!”

“It’s no use- they’re gone! You horrible little men, they’re gone!”

The pistol cocks. 

She breaks first. Maybe it’s the sight of her home burning down, or her sons all dead around her. It doesn’t matter. Through wretched sobs, she laughs, “I sold them both. To a man named Angelo Bronte. They’re either in Saint Dennis, or on a boat to Italy!”

No. No, no, **no** , “No!” Arthur shouts without realizing it. Jesse and Jack- Saint Dennis. That’s a day’s ride, but they have to be fast enough, they can still make it. And, and boats- boats can be tracked. They can find the two of them. They have to- god damn, no-

A distant gunshot. Near the edge of the property line. Far, far away, yet Arthur still lifts up his head. It’s too dark to see what could have caused it, but that makes him pause, makes him still his breathing in something like hope. All the members of the gang are here, right now, watching this manor burn to ashes and dust. Who could’ve shot? And why?

Bill’s faster on the draw. He’s got a pair of binoculars, and he’s looking at that speck, looking hard. Arthur sees his chest freeze. 

“Dutch. Look.”

Dutch turns away from Catherine Braithwaite, who’s gotten up now, stumbling towards the fire in tears. No one pays her any mind. Instead, all attention is on Dutch now, looking to that gunshot source. Frozen too. Dutch lets out a sound, then shoves the binoculars back into Bill’s hands.

“That’s Jesse and Jack.”

Chaos. 

Arthur and John find their ways to the horses, somehow. They’re riding hard and fast, charging across the field. Arthur thinks he can hear others behind him, but he can’t tell, and for once he doesn’t want to care; that’s you, with the gunshot. That’s you, with little Jack.

That’s a miracle. No, not a miracle, that’s your tenacity and stubborn grit. That’s you. And Arthur is going to get you safe.

The horses run and run and finally, come to a stop in the sod. And damn it all, near the edge of the property line, near a road with an upturned stagecoach- 

There you are.

You’re holding little Jack in one arm, and your grandpappy’s pistol in the other. Your stance is hard and cold, and there’s blood splashed up one side of you, like a shield against Jack, protecting him. Your eyes are wide and frightened, though, and you hold up the pistol with surpassingly steady hands. You look like you’re about to bolt; you’re standing near a horse, and Arthur thinks that if they’d been slower, you’d’ve already been saddled and rushing off. Now, though, you just stand there, and you stand firm. 

“Stay back. I ain’t wanna hurt you,” you state. Arthur can hardly hear your voice shaking. Jack’s buried his head in your shoulder, shaking like a leaf, and you take a step back to plant your feet and prepare to fire.

“Jesse!” Arthur shouts, at the same time that John shouts, “Jack!”

You stop. You hold up the gun for a moment longer, then lower it, eyes suddenly shining. Jack lifts up his head, and his voice is so small, but so damn hopeful, “Papa?”

You release Jack. He _rushes_ over to John, slamming into his waiting arms and wailing so loud. He cries out, this like, “I was so scared and it was so loud,” and John just soothes him, petting his hair. You remain standing, rigid, and Arthur takes the few steps over to you. 

“Jesse,” his voice sounds so thin. 

“... Arthur,” you rasp. Then, you’re all motion, wrapping your arms around him and just... crying. It ain’t a dignified cry, but a scared one. Arthur can piece out your words, as you cry into his shoulder, “They came for Jack, and I was so scared and I panicked and I- I shot someone! I shot one of them, and then they brought us here, and they tell me they sold us to some man and so I- when he brought us to his stagecoach, I shot him too!” you wail. “I was so scared Pa- I was so scared-“ 

“There there- Easy, easy, it’s okay, Jesse, it’s okay, I got you now, it’s gonna be okay. You ain’t gotta worry anymore,” Arthur holds you tight, rocking back and forth a little with you, letting you let it all out. There’s blood on your hands now. Something that Arthur wished you’d never have to experience, but, he knew you would, one day. But he won’t let you blame yourself; if anything, this is his fault. And you saved little Jack, saved both of yourselves from whatever that man had in mind. So, for now, Arthur lets you cry it out, and tries to soothe you as best you can. His kid. 

“I’m so damn proud of you, you hear? I’m so proud. It’s okay now, I ain’t gonna let them hurt you anymore. You’re safe.”

Arthur means every word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first time in a hot minute that I’ve uploaded chapters daily. Kinda proud of myself


	6. Banking, the Old American Art

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It goes like this: the bank job doesn’t go south.

The bank heist looms, like a terrible storm. Arthur can’t help but feel like it’s an important moment- of course it is. A job that big, it’s bound to be. But it feels more weighty than that. Maybe it’s because they’ve gone and changed camps again, all the way to Shady Belle. Near Saint Denis now, far away from the Pinkertons, closer to the money. Or maybe it’s because of what Mary Linton said in town; asking Arthur to run away with her. He told her, as gentle as could be, that he couldn’t. Can’t, won’t. He has a kid now; you. Can’t just leave.

But still, he’s thinking about her words. Thinking about leaving. The bank job looms, and this time, Arthur thinks about _after_. He thinks about what he’ll do with his share, if they make it. And he doesn’t think about _again, one more after this, just one more._ Not this time. Arthur thinks about this as It, thinks about a nice ranch after, like Dutch had talked about so long ago. Thinks about taking you, thinks about your smile as you race Asparagus Jake around the property, the herds of cows, the sun golden on the horizon.

Yeah. Ain’t that a dream to dream. 

So the day of the bank robbery comes. You stay behind, and Arthur promises to come back. The storm cloud seems to rise in his mind, and Arthur’s waiting for it to strike, to ruin this peace and drag him back down to hell with it.

But, it never comes. The robbery goes off as planned. Hosea makes his distraction, Dutch gets the money, Lenny laughs from the roof, and Arthur feels that storm pass without pausing.

(Maybe, Arthur thinks- as he swears he sees some ghostly stag in the corner of his view- maybe he’s lucky. Maybe, in some other time, he wouldn’t have been. Maybe.)

They all ride back to camp. Not together, but eventually they all end back at Shady Belle. Everyone is talking now, shouting in excitement, with Pearson breaking out the good stuff and Javier already going to get his guitar. Dutch laughs, so painfully like years ago, when they were all younger and happier. Arthur should be happy. But instead, he feels a kind of, strangeness, taking over his chest. It ain’t a happy feeling. Arthur turns away from it, and goes back to his spot in the camp, where you’re sitting on your cot and reading something intently. Arthur smiles now, genuine.

“Jesse,” he calls, voice low, and you look up with an excited smile, throwing the book back onto the cot.

“Arthur! You’re back!” you bounce up. There’s a moment where you stand there, then you cram your face into his chest and squeeze your arms in a hug. Arthur chuckles then, patting your back, letting you get out all those clingy feelings in one go.

“Yep. Back, and with money too.” Arthur nods over to Dutch. Dutch, who’s started to give a speech now to everyone, about... something. One time, Arthur would’ve been the first one there to listen. Now, he’s only listening in a vague sense of the word, picking out pieces of it. The plan worked. Have some faith. Then, the words: it’s not enough yet. We just need a little more money. 

Everyone still smiles. They all get a cut, so no one really minds. The booze is flowing already, and Karen is being spun around by Sean, and yet all Arthur can do is stare at Dutch like someone’s walked over his grave.

He’s thinking of Mary Linton’s words now. Asking him to run away. And now, he’s thinking of what he’d thought before; a ranch, golden sunsets, you and your smile. Much more real than a Tahiti soaked dream that won’t ever come close to real. 

“Jesse,” Arthur muses out loud, voice a low rumble, “Are you happy here?”

You nod quick. Like it’s a test or something. Arthur turns to face you fully, sighing, “No, no. I mean, here. With all this,” and he waves a hand around. To the crumbling building, to the canvas tents that smell like home, if home had no where else to go. To having to kill your first man. Your expression ripples a little. 

“I- it ain’t bad. It’s nice, with you an’ the others.”

Home is a people. Arthur’d learned that lesson a long time ago. Seems you’ve learned it far sooner than he did.

“What if...” Arthur makes a sound like a sigh, not quite, “What if I got us a ranch out west? Y’know, a few of us. No more... no more of this Pinkertons and runnin’ around.”

Somewhere for a growing kid to plant their feet. A home for you, to grow knee high by the fourth of July. You cross your legs together, tangling them all up as you think deep. 

“It sounds nice,” you tilt your head back, looking up at the sky with it’s not quite twilight, “It sounds nice.”

Nice like a dream. Never quite real. Arthur tilts his head so the brim of his hat covers a sad look in his eyes, and then stands back up.

“Come on. Everyone’s gonna be havin’ a party tonight; let’s see if we can crash it,” Arthur smiles. You look to him and lose that sad quality, jumping up like a goat.

“Can we get canned peaches from Pearson’s stash?”

“Long as we quick and sneaky about it, sure.” 

And so, the party goes into the night. You eat peaches in syrup, Javier plays the guitar, Kieran and Mary-Beth share a sweet little dance, and even Uncle joins in with a dubious story or too. You stick by little Jack most of the night, and if anyone minds the way you keep your pistol close, well, they don’t mention it. Rhodes is still fresh in their minds too. Arthur keeps an eye on you as well, just to be safe, and eventually the party winds down. Everyone getting too tired to really continue. Arthur’d been tired for hours already, and now he’s exhausted. Still, it’s worth it to see everyone together, smiling and laughing and alive. 

Arthur sleeps easy. At least for this once.

In the morning, though, it’s cold air and Arthur’s tense face, walking over to Dutch to have the damned conversation he’s never wanted to have. Each step is slow, like Arthur’s been caught in some deep mud, but he can’t drag his feet forever. Eventually, he reaches his mentor. The man that’s been like a parent. A man he, slowly, has stopped recognizing in way— how long until he’s unrecognizable entirely?

“Arthur! Just the man I wanted to see,” Dutch grins, closing his book and standing up. Arthur doesn’t move.

“Yeah- listen, Dutch, I- I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

Dutch nods in a way that could mean anything. Maybe it’s reassuring, but it don’t feel that way. Arthur clears his throat, and tries not to let that nervousness show.

“I’ve been thinking. About, Tahiti.” About that life that they’ll never see. “Dutch, be honest with me; how long we gonna keep doin’ this?”

How many more jobs? How many more close calls?

“Arthur, believe me. We are so close, it is... I can feel it. Just one more score, Arthur, and then we can go. I need you to have a little faith.”

Those damn words make his eye twitch. Something like shutters close over Arthur’s expression, and he doesn’t sigh, but it’s a near thing.

“I’ve got a kid now, Dutch. I can’t keep doing this.”

Dutch’s eyes are razor sharp, and he stares at Arthur in an almost calculating way. “Doing ‘this’?”

“These jobs, Dutch. This, whatever this is. The movin’, the Pinkertons- hell, Jack and Jesse got kidnapped only a few weeks ago. I can’t keep going like this.”

“Do you mean to leave, Arthur?”

Arthur bites the inside of his cheek. “I don’t wanna leave, Dutch, but... it ain’t just me I’m looking out for now.”

The silence feels tense. Weighty. Dutch’s eyes are not the same as Arthur once remembered, and ain’t that the scariest part. Just different enough to feel foreign. Just enough that Arthur wonders if this wasn’t a good idea. 

In a different time, maybe so. Maybe if Micah was still around to whisper in Dutch’s ear. But, instead, the moment comes and goes. Dutch shakes his head with a sigh.

“Well, my boy, I can’t say I’m not upset, but I won’t be angry,” and Dutch reaches behind himself, pulling out a lockbox and handing a stack of bills to Arthur. “Here; your take.”

And if it’s a little bit more than what he should’ve gotten, Arthur doesn’t mention it. It’s at least a thousand, more an plenty to get a train out West with you. Arthur nods, but finds himself lingering. Years ago, he wouldn’t have to try and think of what to say to Dutch. But things have changed. Leavings for the best, but it still hurts. Eventually, Dutch sets a hand on Arthur’s shoulder.

“Take care, son.”

Arthur smiles, but it’s small and gone in an instant, “You too, Dutch.”

You’re awake when Arthur comes back to his spot, and you’re still squinting at your book, mouthing the words. Arthur settles down beside you.

“We’re gonna be leaving tomorrow, Jesse,” is what he says. You jolt, then turn those big eyes on Arthur, something like confused hurt in them. 

“Tomorrow? But that’s- that’s soon. I thought we’d- I dunno, have more time.”

Arthur wraps an arm around your shoulder, in a sad kind of way, “I know. I’m sorry. It’s best if we move on as quick as we can.” 

No Pinkertons to steal this away. No chance for it to go in flames. It’s cruel, in a way, to make you leave this found family just like that. But Arthur has another trick up his sleeve, one that’ll hopefully make you smile. “And, I was wondering...” Arthur trials off, getting your attention, “If you could ask around camp, to see who’d wanna come with us.”

You light up. He’s never seen your face this earnest before, and you’re on your feet before he can even inhale to chuckle. Then, you’re a little rushing form, ignoring Ms. Grimshaw’s reprimands, going straight for Kieran at the edge of camp. Arthur can’t help the fond shake of his head, and instead, he stands up to go find Trelawny; he’s got some business to settle, and one of those things is finding a ranch out west to settle in. 

Its hours later now. Trelawny tells him of a fella, who knows another fella, who gives Arthur properties to choose from and deals and land square foot and all that other stuff that Arthur doesn’t quite understand. He picks the one he thinks you’d like the most, which seems like a good enough idea. He walks out with a property deed and a smile, and walks in to camp to your excited chattering.

“Arthur! Arthur!” you’re circling him like a little yappy puppy, “I asked, and Sadie said yes, and Lenny and Charles, and Kieran and- oh, and Mary-Beth too, and I think she’s sweet on Kieran so I think I get it, and- and John and Abigail and Jack!”

That’s a lot of words. Arthur asks you to slow down, repeat it slower, and you vibrate but comply. It’s a fair amount, in Arthur’s opinion. Like you’ve convinced everyone you liked to come. You sound a little sad, though, as you list off those who wouldn’t.

“Tilly and Karen won’t come. They- Karen’s got Sean, and Sean ain’t wanna leave Dutch. And, Tilly... she ain’t wanna leave Dutch neither. Hosea, too.”

You sniff a little when you mention Hosea. Arthur gives your hair a ruffle, knowing that, despite all the work he’d given you, you grew so damn fond of Hosea. Arthur can’t lie; it’ll hurt, leaving Hosea behind too. His first father. But, he’ll do it if it means you ain’t gotta worry anymore. Hell, this must be what being a parent feels like, all the time.

“You convinced Lenny to come,” Arthur coaxes, “That’s good, ain’t it?”

And that sets you off again, a smile on your face as you nod and go on and on. Arthur smiles fondly back. He’ll have to go and talk to them too, finalize what’s happening, see what all they’re taking. But, for the first time in a long time, well... it feels like that strange, unreachable dream is becoming real. Just a little closer. 

Maybe the dream ain’t so far away.


	7. In That Sweet By-and-By

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It goes like this: There’s a ranch, and a dream.

It’s weeks upon weeks later, the next time Arthur finally has a moment to reflect. 

They’re at the ranch now. Just like it said on paper, all big and open, space for animals and for the horses to run. Close to a town, but not too close. The kind of place that Dutch always seemed to dream of talking about. Arthur almost can’t believe it’s real still, that this damn dream is actually real. But as he sits on the porch with Charles, seeing that golden sun drench everything like warm tones like it’s all spun from gold, well. It seems a little more real than before. And your laughter too, echoing through the morning, as you ride through the open fields on top of Asparagus Jake, losing your hat somewhere with the breeze. Or, Arthur’s hat it looks like. He smiles as you wave and ride past.

The ranch is nice. It’s got a big, central house, and more houses they’ve gone and set up around it, enough for everyone who wants one to have one. John and his family take the main one, with Sadie rooming, and then you’ve got Mary-Beth and Kieran, and in the last one, Arthur, you, Charles, and Lenny. You practically begged for Lenny to stay in the house, and Lenny’s gone and adopted you as a younger sibling, so he couldn’t even refuse. Arthur knows that feeling well. And if that meant that Charles and Arthur shared a room, well, Arthur certainly isn’t going to complain. From the kind of smile Charles gives, he won’t either.

It’s a nice kind of life. Eventually, you trot to a stop on Jake, and everyone else is up and about, doing their chores for the day and talking. Arthur walks beside you to retrieve his hat, and you talk about some birds you saw in the woods, gesturing big and wide, and for once, it hits Arthur that there isn’t any fear in your eyes. No worry of Pinkertons, and no worry of something else.

“Arthur, I, I’m really happy here,” you smile, kicking at some grass and looking out to the horizon, “It’s nice. I ain’t ever thank you enough.”

“You thank me every day, Jesse,” he brings you in by your shoulder for a one-armed hug, “and I always tell you that you don’t need to.”

You’re both silent for a little bit, watching Sable sniff at some plant, and then you clear your throat and speak, a little more quiet.

“Thank you. For saving me from my Pa.”

That’s the fear in your eyes that’s been gone. That great big looming threat, that your father might’ve found you, tried to take you back or worse. Arthur’s eyes are a little softer, his walk slower.

“You ain’t never need to thank me for that. Jesse, you’re my kid; I’m always, always proud of you. I won’t ever let some... evil ol’ bastard try and do different,” Arthur says, and you sag just a little against his shoulder. “I don’t give a damn what that old fool said about you, either. Whatever you are, that’s you, and don’t you let anyone ever tell you different. I’m so damn proud of you, every day.”

You give a little sniffle. Arthur doesn’t mention it, and instead, leads you along a little while longer, through the field and the horses, the golden sun and the trees. Walking here with you, the dream feels a little more real than before. Maybe one day it won’t feel like a dream at all.

For now, you’ll both take it one day at a time. You’ll grow up happy and safe, riding horses with Lenny, getting taught hunting by Charles. Sadie will teach you how to shoot a gun, and you’ll use your grandpappy’s revolver for every shot. You’ll teach Jack to read and write, and John will ride with you into town for books for the both of you, while Abigail mends your clothes from where you’ll fall trying to get elderberries from the tallest trees. Kieran will listen to you complain about how much of a stick in the mud Arthur is, and Mary-Beth will laugh and help you cut your hair when it gets too long. And Arthur will get to sit here, watching you grow, in the company of some of his best friends as the years roll on, the unobtainable dream real.

Arthur will hear that the Van der Linde gang hit hard times. He’ll know that they never reached their Tahiti, that every job was just one more job. He doesn’t know what happens to them after one big job fails, after the papers report the failure and then they just disappear. He’ll wait, looking out from the ranch to see if one of them might show up, if Hosea will smile and wave from atop a horse and say he came back for his sons, or if Tilly comes along, having tired out of it all. No one ever will. Arthur will accept it, in some part of himself, but he’ll still miss it too. And he’ll go back to his room, and Charles will sit with him and listen to his troubles, just like he always had.

It’s a nice life, isn’t it?

But, for now, Arthur walks with you through the pasture. You, his kid. That great big endless dream, a future that ain’t never seemed real, now right beside him. For now, Arthur is content. And in the woods, a stag with eyes of gold watches the scene, something warm in its gaze. It thinks of the future that once was, of blood in the lungs, friends dying, an end on a cold mountain. This is, the stag thinks, the dream that Arthur Morgan deserved. And so the stag walks off into the trees, and the sun shines.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand done
> 
> Arthur gets a ranch, a kid, and a bf. Good end. Still a little sad but I wanted to keep it realistic, so it’s not like everything is suddenly ok and Dutch doesn’t go crazy. But it’s moslty ok


End file.
